His Little Black Book

by Thea Devine

  “You are amazing.” His voice was raw with need and pleasure. “You are—I want to fuck you. I want you naked on the sofa. I want—”

  “I know,” she crooned soothingly. “Let’s rest a minute, let’s get you protected.” She dug for the rubber she always carried with her. No foreplay necessary; she was already primed.

  He undressed her, she dressed him for action, and in three minutes she was on her back, and he was slowly and sensuously pushing himself into her, her body arching involuntarily with pleasure as he squeezed between her legs and held himself there for a long erotic moment.

  And then he drove and she met his thrust and exploded. She hadn’t expected such a highly charged coupling that she would orgasm in thirty seconds. It was going to make it much harder to deal with him in the aftermath.

  She felt as if she were standing outside herself, watching as he reared back so that their bodies remained connected solely by his penis inserted into her. He looked like a crowing warrior, and she was the spoils of his conquest rather than the seductress who had subjugated him with her sex.

  This coupling was his victory, not her seduction, which left no room for any negotiation. Bill had already put her down in the charge column that read convenience: free for the asking when it was good for him, with his company picking up the tab.

  It killed her ardor faster than a gallon of cold water.

  She wriggled out from under him with a pang of regret that she’d never get to fondle him again.

  “What? What’s wrong?” He reached for her and caught her ankles as she was swinging her legs over the edge of the couch.

  “That was very nice,” she said. “But I’d like to discuss my needs before we go any further.”

  That deflated him. “What do you mean, your needs?”

  “Well…” How did she put this nicely? “If we are going to have sex on a regular basis, I need things. An apartment. A clothing allowance—”

  “Why?” he sneered. “You’d always be naked.”

  She ignored that. “A schedule of when you’d be available. A diamond bracelet, dinner out…Perhaps we could travel together.”

  “I’m married,” he growled through gritted teeth.

  “Yes,” she said soothingly, “I know that. And while this is a lovely place to screw around once in a while, it wouldn’t do at all if we were together. I’ll need a place just for us if you want to continue to have sex with me.”

  “You’re a whore.”

  “No, but I know my value, Bill.” She began putting on her clothes in a way that she hoped made him horny, just to show him what he was giving up. Just to show him she had some power. That his name-calling, his disappointment, his rage, meant nothing to her.

  “In this situation, you have all the nuts,” she went on, daintily sliding on her skirt, her jacket, her sky-high heels. “I need some nuts, too, Bill, and those hanging between your legs, while they’re lovely and quite delicious to suck, aren’t commensurate with the value you’re getting from me. And that’s not even counting the fact your company’s paying for the food and accommodations.”

  “You stinking whore.”

  She shrugged. “Whatever. I really enjoyed having sex with you, Bill, but I think we’re done.”

  “Cock tease. Bitch!”

  She sent him a leveling glance, picked up her pocketbook, and paused at the door. “I am sorry. You’re so cheap. I really enjoyed sucking you off, if that makes any difference to you.”

  She walked out into the roaring crowd of fractious fans just as the Rangers scored.

  It was an apt finish. After all, what had this been but a game? And Bill had scored and she had not.

  Chapter Six

  Delia called Brooke the minute she got home. “I need an emergency meeting of the Mistress Club. I did something awful, stupid. Maybe it wasn’t, I don’t know, but I just have to have input. Brooke, call me back.”

  Brooke was lying in Hugh Steffen’s arms after hours of sensuous foreplay and no foreskin action. But this was perfectly fine, cuddling in his big hotel bed in the dark, feeling, licking, sucking, teasing, kissing.

  She had worn a slinky Randolph Duke halter dress with nothing beneath and ankle-strap stilettos, which were the only thing she still had on. The rest he’d taken off thirty seconds after she entered the room.

  She had eaten dinner naked. Not that she’d eaten; he was more appetizing than the appetizers. He did naked very well, indeed. He was engorged to bursting and she wanted to smear the crème brûlée and caviar all over him and lick it off. She wanted to do a hundred sensual things to him, and he just sat there eating and making small talk while her lust for him escalated exponentially.

  How sadistic was that?

  “Hugh.”

  “Yes, my pussy?”

  “Didn’t you say something about—”

  “Later, my pussy. We have all the time in the world tonight.”

  She felt as if time was slipping away and there was no time for sex, to get things straight, or to come to an arrangement.

  Maybe that was why she felt antsy tonight. This man was so out of her league that she didn’t know how to handle things.

  She took a sip of wine. She was breathless with a voluptuous yearning to feel his penetration. She didn’t care where, which way, or how.

  “Come to my bed, my pussy. It’s time.”

  He sat against the headboard and motioned her to straddle his legs facing away from him.

  “Spread your legs for me so I can feel up your pussy,” he whispered in her ear. She angled her legs, pulling them up tight against her body. She felt his shaft thick and throbbing against her buttocks, felt both his hands sliding down either thigh, felt her body melting like chocolate as his fingers grasped her nether lips and parted them. Felt him dip into her with two fingers, three, four, thrusting, dipping, sliding, feeling…

  “My darling pussy is thick with honey,” he breathed against her heated skin. “I’ve never had pussy so clotted with honey as yours.”

  The words thrilled her, aroused her, made her push to feel his fingers deeper and deeper still.

  “Let me just play with your pussy.”

  “I can’t…I can’t—I need…”

  “I know, my pussy needs her penis. But I need to dip into my honeypot, I need to feel the honey you make for me.”

  “Yes-s-s-s…” as he pumped her between her legs. “Oh, yes…” And she went mindless, seduced by the feel of his fingers, the sensations he provoked, the sibilant sex sounds he whispered in her ear, the feel of his tongue licking the curve of her neck, and his fingers pulling her cunt lips still farther apart…

  So good—such insane pleasure…feelings as thick as molasses coursing slowly through her veins, through her, becoming her until all there was of her was her hot, slick, pulsing center.

  She rode his fingers, pumping her in the moist heat of her cunt. And then—now now now…the firecracker of an orgasm caught her by surprise. Hot lights exploded all over her body, inside her body, and she frantically wrung every last flash point of pleasure from his thrusting fingers.

  He wasn’t done. His fingers still played with her between her legs, but she was done. She needed nothing else from him.

  Except—

  He knew. There was a hot peak when he could no longer withstand his own need, and then he rolled her onto her back, mounted her and took her, sliding into her aroused wet heat like it was home.

  “There’s my pretty pussy, the best of all the pussies,” he crooned, swooping in for a long, breathless kiss. “I adore luscious, hot pussies like yours.”

  He rode her hard and high. Unbelievably sensitized by all his fondling, she felt everything more intensely, more keenly, more pleasurably, and her orgasm broke over her like the tide, radiating long and slow from deep in her womb until it cracked all over his pistonlike thrusts and brought him home.

  Perfect.

  So perfect.

  …What did he say about pussies?

&n
bsp; Don’t think. Just hold him, just feel him.

  Tomorrow I’ll think…

  She couldn’t think anyway, with his penis nudging her, thick with lust.

  “More,” she whispered. “Lots more.”

  He licked her lips. “Whatever my perfect pussy desires.”

  Brooke lost count. Four times? Five? His stamina was impressive. Time flowed into timeless hours. She was going to be late for work. She’d have to sneak into the office and change into her spare work suit. And she absolutely needed to examine those comments of his, though she didn’t quite remember what they were.

  It didn’t matter. He still held her in the aftermath of this final coupling, his shaft resting in his lap.

  The quiet was soothing. He wasn’t sending her away, not yet. He would propose something; how could he not?

  What had he said about pussies?

  He stroked her hair, murmuring sensually…pretty pussy, perfect pussy, the best of all the pussies…

  There.

  That. The best of all the…

  How many pussies?

  Don’t think about that…yet…

  “I’ll be leaving tomorrow,” he murmured into the darkness.

  “What?” she murmured drowsily.

  “I’m going back home tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Oh?” Her heart started pounding. The moment was here suddenly, sooner than she expected it. Maybe he wasn’t going home—maybe he was just ending this, maybe there was someone else in the wings. Or in another town. Or coming to him right here hours from now…

  Damn. How could he end it? They were extraordinary together. She didn’t want to lose him. But there was nothing she could say; he’d forestalled that.

  We don’t have to know anything more, do we?

  And now she wanted to know everything.

  It was a fifty-fifty moment—he’d make an offer, or it was over.

  “It had to come, my dear.”

  “Of course.” She kept her tone as neutral as possible.

  Ask me…

  “Of course I’ll be back stateside again, though I don’t know when yet.”

  “Of course.”

  “So—may I call you when I come?”

  Everything tilted, and Hugh Steffen morphed into meaningless man.

  She gathered the last shreds of her pride. “Of course,” she said calmly. “I’ll always be happy to consider having sex—if I’m available.”

  “That’s perfect,” he murmured into the darkness. “Just the way it should be.”

  “I totally agree,” she said. “A recreational penis can be just what a woman wants sometimes.”

  “I knew you were that kind of pussy. I’m so happy I found you; I really enjoyed fucking you. A young woman’s sex is just luscious.”

  Did he think that would appease her? She was shaking with anger and something she couldn’t define as she gathered up her clothes.

  “Shall I send for the car now?” Always the gentleman.

  “If you’d call a cab, I’ll be fine,” she managed through gritted teeth.

  He flicked on a light and called the concierge. “Ten minutes, pussy dear. Take your time dressing.”

  She headed for the bathroom, closed the door gently, sat on the toilet, and refused to cry.

  MJ, it’s Brooke. We’re having lunch tomorrow instead of next week, and it’s mandatory you be there. We have things to discuss. No excuses.

  They had just walked into her apartment, and Dallan had settled himself on the couch and was looking around while MJ listened to her voice mail.

  “Who the hell is Brooke?”

  She closed her eyes wearily. This would involve long, detailed explanations.

  This was the first time she’d brought Dallan back to her place since they’d started seeing each other. No, sexing each other.

  No, since Dallan had taken over her life.

  She took a deep breath. “My college roommate. Before you and I met, we used to have lunch once a month.”

  “Your only standing lunch date is with me.”

  “I know that, Dallan.”

  “So how can this Brooke think you can just drop everything for some mandatory lunch because she has, or maybe you have, things to discuss?”

  MJ swallowed. “Maybe she’s in trouble, or Delia’s got some problem. I won’t know unless I go.”

  “You have no need to go. I’m all you need.”

  “Yes, you are, Dallan. No one could ever want more than you, if she were fortunate enough to be the woman you chose.”

  “Then why would she want to abandon me for her friends?”

  “She wouldn’t. She just hasn’t seen them recently. It might be nice to—”

  He grasped her wrist. “No, I don’t think that’s nice. Nice is not abandoning me and my needs to take care of someone else’s needs. Nice is not wasting my cream when I’m hard for you every day, all day. You know what would be nice? If you just took off your clothes and sucked me off right now.”

  And she did it. She shucked her suit and her underthings, and she knelt between his legs and willingly swallowed his cum as he jerked off in her mouth.

  “Nobody does it like you,” he growled. “Come—let me fondle you.”

  She climbed onto his lap and let him run his hands all over her body, let him penetrate her and stroke her and calm her. This was a gentler Dallan—the one who was considerate and kind, who was always sorry when he spoke too roughly to her or was too abrasive.

  She loved these moments when he was soft like this.

  But the voice mail message had distracted her. The words still sat in the air between them. He knew she was thinking about it. She couldn’t help it: Brooke was never that preemptory, Brooke didn’t demand.

  Something was up.

  Dallan’s shaft was up—again.

  “Cunt time—now.”

  She got up obediently, straddled his legs, and sank onto him as he pulled her tight against his chest and rocked himself deeper into her.

  “This is what’s important,” he said. “My penis, your cunt, my pleasure. Who can give you what I give you, MJ? Not your so-called friends—unless they have penises, and if they do, then you’re a fucking bitch, a brazen liar, and a whore-cunt, and I will wash my hands of you.”

  “No, no—it’s not like that, Dallan. Honestly, it’s just my college girlfriends. Brooke and Delia.”

  “You know what?” He pushed her off his shaft, pushed her away altogether. Got up, leaving her curled on the sofa, all righteous irritation because this one afternoon he couldn’t fuck her, and he gave her permission.

  “You go to that lunch, MJ. You enjoy that lunch with your so-called friends and then come back and tell me all about it, and I’ll decide whether it was a waste of your time and the ejaculate I could be spending in you.”

  “I hereby call this meeting of the Mistress Club to order.”

  They were ranged around their table at the Park Avenue Café, and the maître d’ was kind enough to say it had been a while since he had seen them.

  Brooke felt exhausted, MJ looked weary, and Delia looked troubled.

  “We have lots to talk about,” Brooke said, “and not nearly enough time. So we had better start fast and finish soon. Delia?”

  “Well, the thing is, I don’t know if I did the right thing—about Bill, I mean.” She looked at Brooke. “You gave him the phone number, right?”

  “I did. I figured it couldn’t hurt.”

  “Well, I hurt him—I think. Maybe not. I mean, the Mistress Club is kind of a theory, right? So when you get down to it, when you have someone interested, then what do you do? Especially if he’s made arrangements for the rendezvous and expects you just to fall in with his plans and his convenience.”

  Brooke said, “Well, I’ve been formulating some rules for that because I’ve become painfully aware that we have to deal with that problem. But—what happened with you?”

  Delia told them, in explicit detail, including the jaw-dropping ma
intenance requirements she’d outlined to Bill—“honestly, right off the top of my head”—and his reaction.

  “You rejected him?” MJ said, awed.

  “I did, but in the bitchiest possible way. And now I’m feeling—”

  “Don’t,” Brooke said instantly. “You did absolutely the right thing. The thing I wish I could have done it the minute…”

  Their eyes swerved to her in unison, and she saw she couldn’t hide, couldn’t dissemble about her own experience. “Okay, confession time. I was approached by one of our hotel guests—the gentleman who stopped at our table, Delia, during our last lunch?”

  Delia caught her breath. “Oh, but he was—”

  “Yes, he was. A very well-traveled and well-troweled businessman from England who collects gullible women. I fell for him like a lead balloon. I thought the sex was so mind-blowing over the course of our two-day affair, that he’d be scrambling to make an offer.”

  “And did he?” Delia asked.

  “No. He made a fool out of me. He just wanted another number to call next time he’s in town and he’s horny. He collects pussies. Loves his pussies. Said I was the best of all his…He actually said that during—” She let out a distressed sigh. “He probably says that to everyone. God, but he was good. I was so naïve. And he’s not nearly worthy enough if he needs the novelty of a new body every time he’s stateside.” She thinned her lips. “It won’t be me next time. But then, he probably never calls any of them again. What a bastard.”

  The waiter arrived and they ordered their usual fish and salad, with iced tea. Nobody was hungry. MJ looked miserable.

  “I know you have a story, too,” Brooke said to her. “Dallan Baines hasn’t offered you anything, has he?”

  “He’s freaking because I’m having lunch with you guys. Usually we’re going at it hot and heavy this time of day.”

  “Usually?” Delia breathed. “Like—every day?”

  “Morning, afternoon, and evening,” MJ said.

  “Jeez…”

  “He’s married. And he’s got a glorious apartment in town, but he hasn’t invited me to live there. I sleep there, I can have sex there, but I can’t live there.”

  “I see,” Brooke said. “Please tell me you’re not in love with him.”